


Sympathy Pains

by nanasalt



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22687393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasalt/pseuds/nanasalt
Summary: The sound and the fear had been too much to ignore.Too much, he realized with a jolt, to have come from him.The street sweeper was huddled in on herself, close enough to reach out and touch if only barely, and Gleb felt as though the breath had been knocked from his lungs.After touching your soulmate, you feel their emotions.
Relationships: Gleb Vaganov/Anya | Anastasia Romanov
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	Sympathy Pains

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr in 2018, but edited and improved to be posted here.

The street sweeper brushed past him and Gleb stepped back, bowing out of the way and rubbing absently at his wrist. She’d come close enough to touch - an odd brush of her uncovered fingertips against the bare strip of skin between his glove and cuff - and the lingering warmth of human contact felt strange against the Russian winter. If it was likewise strange to the street sweeper, she gave no indication; she was too intent on her work to even look at him.

Everyone had their work in the new Russia, and that, Gleb thought with a swell of determination, was all he wanted. The street sweeper was exactly the sort of person he’d hoped to build the new Russia for, the sort of person he’d thought of during his time in the army and the police. There were still plenty of Russians who would turn their nose up at such work, and Gleb felt a surge of loyalty - to country and to the sort of people who improved it - and then a wash of nerves that couldn’t be explained. He wanted to compliment her for her dedication, and maybe the nerves were simply worry that she’d misinterpret -

He’d taken a step forward when sharp crack, familiar from his nightmares, sent Gleb to his knees with a cry in his throat and bloodstains behind his eyes. It couldn’t be a gunshot, but for a heart-stopping moment it had been and he had heard his cry echoed in another voice.

The turmoil settled into a horrified ache and he sucked in a breath, bracing his gloved hands on the pavement and muddy snow beneath him, the good, solid reminders of the Russia he was in now, where gunshots did not ring out in city streets and bodies were not dragged from houses by fathers. When he opened his eyes, he saw his hands trembling as he lifted them. He was still on the ground with the cold sinking into his knees and if he didn’t move soon, it would hurt to walk, but the sound and the fear had been too much to ignore.

Too much, he realized with a jolt, to have come from him. 

The street sweeper was huddled in on herself, close enough to reach out and touch if only barely, and Gleb felt as though the breath had been knocked from his lungs.

“It was a truck backfiring, that’s all,” he managed, and tried to push his comfort into the bond as he reached out a hand to her and kept talking - the bond that must exist, because this was his bondmate on the snow in front of him, it was _her_ terror that had driven him to his knees and kept him there. “Those days are over,” he added, scrabbling through the snow until he could grab the broom she’d flung aside in her fear, “neighbor against neighbor,” and he reached across the muddy snow.

He had tried not to dream of a perfect meeting, but if it _was_ her – if this was his other half – he would be happy no matter how awkward the circumstances. Her determination, her loyalty, those had struck him first and commanded his attention, and those weren't changed.

She jolted when his hand met her shoulder, but didn’t move otherwise.

“We are all comrades now,” he added, dry mouthed.

Her gradual calm vanished in an instant, and Gleb felt sick with nerves, although whose nerves he couldn’t tell. She whirled and met his gaze, scrambling back across the snow with fear and something sharper surging through her, bleeding into him until he wanted to grit his teeth. Her eyes traced from his outstretched hand up to his uniform and then to his eyes, and there was a flash of recognition before she went cold. The fear still whirled around them like a snowstorm, and she was the calm eye of it. Gleb swallowed unevenly.

She hated the uniform. He was, unfortunately, used to that.

“You’re shaking,” he tried again, keeping his - _their_ \- emotions from his voice and cursing his eternal optimism. He smiled and felt an encouraging spark of warmth in return, and he wet his lips before adding, “You - there’s a tea shop, just steps from here - we could - ?”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he felt a moment of shock and warmth from her before it abated into nerves again. It was frustrating, the brush of _almost_ , of _want-but-not-quite_ , and he stared at her with his mouth agape. She hesitated only a moment, and he felt the wild urge to say something – anything – to beg her to stay or promise her everything as she pushed herself to her feet and grabbed the broom from his hand. Soulmates were overwhelming, that was common knowledge; first meetings often ended with declarations or promises the speaker couldn’t keep, and Gleb had never wanted to be one of them, but --

It wasn’t until she tucked her skirts back into place and turned on her heel that he realized she was going to leave, just like that, without saying anything. Gleb was on his feet, his hand grasping her wrist, unaware of how shocking the motion had been until her emotions seethed around them. It felt like she had scalded him in reprimand and he let go instantly, his hand finding the spot she’d touched his wrist like a talisman.

Bondmates weren’t supposed to hurt each other.

“What’s your hurry?” he demanded, wounded and confused in turn, and she quieted again. Gleb regretted snapping, and then wondered if she regretted declining. The lines were muddled, this close.

“I can’t lose this job,” she said, and honest regret washed through him. She wanted to say yes, and Gleb couldn’t help the way he reached back through their bond, yearning for her to agree. It felt like his heart was in his throat, like he was reaching out with his soul and being rebuffed. 

She smiled shyly at him and he fell in love.

“Thank you,” she emphasized again, and then she turned on her heel. Gleb was left with a lingering warmth and a new sense that told him exactly how shaken - how preoccupied - he had left her in turn, which was something except that he hadn’t gotten her name or information and she was rushing away. He could _feel_ her slipping away, distance and time dulling the rawness of the first connection, and the panic curled at the edges of their minds.

She glanced back, if only for a moment.

“I’m here every day,” he shouted after her, or tried to, or maybe simply _wanted_ to call after her, still too caught up in the whirlwind of emotion tying them both together. She vanished around the corner but remained on his mind, in his heart, a warm shield against the Russian cold.

As first meetings went, it was a bit of a disaster, but Gleb was an optimist. He would choose to believe that this was going to work out.

He had to.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly can't believe I haven't posted this here yet. My apologies if you follow me and got a double-notification email; I am bad at posting.
> 
> As ever, follow my tumblr for more updates and writing snippets at [vampyrekatwrites](http://vampyrekatwrites.tumblr.com/). If you want to see my more general fandom side, my Anastasia blog is at [nanasalt](http://nanasalt.tumblr.com/). Feel free to PM me or send asks! The interaction is what keeps me writing.


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